


A Fragrant Rose Unfurling

by Gorillazgal86, improfem



Series: Plenteous Crop [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ashtoreth has a vulva, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Changing Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley is male outside of the role play, F/M, First Time, Gentle Sex, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Nanny & Gardener, Roleplay, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, aka working through a big bowl of trauma soup, but plays a human woman, but they're okay we promise, emotional aftercare, human role play, listen it's all a bit ineffable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24222361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/pseuds/Gorillazgal86, https://archiveofourown.org/users/improfem/pseuds/improfem
Summary: "Francis you old brute, will you let me get on with my work, please?" Crowley's voice was laced with affection and laughter, but held just a hint of that old familiar and directive tone.Steel wrapped in rich red velvet, and wielded by a woman who knew exactly what to do with this weapon. It raised the hair on the back of Aziraphale's neck, and he pulled back carefully, heart racing and mouth suddenly dry with desire."As with allPlenteous Cropfics so far, this can be read as a stand alone fic.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Series: Plenteous Crop [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735825
Comments: 30
Kudos: 96
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	A Fragrant Rose Unfurling

**Author's Note:**

> Like Violet Tiaras and Bird of Paradise, this fic stands alone, but is within the same universe. This story brings us into more modern times and the present (which is 10 years in the future from Armageddidn't) and Crowley and Aziraphale are feathering their South Downs Cottage and think back to their time at the Dowling's as Nanny Ashtoreth & Brother Francis and explore what never actually happened.

Aziraphale walked up to the cottage door, but paused when he noticed Crowley wasn't following.

"Oh, very well, suit yourself. I'm going upstairs to get changed properly." 

When Aziraphale made his way around the cottage, Crowley had already unloaded their purchases. He had tied his hair back and was already kneeling in the newly disturbed soil, with a pair of startlingly bright yellow gloves to complete the look. He burst out laughing when he laid eyes on Aziraphale. 

"Really Angel? You didn't want to complete the look with mutton chops and those horrible teeth?" Aziraphale looked down at himself, and blushed. His gardener outfit, while definitely part of an exaggerated character, had always served him well. 

"It's functional and comfortable, and it reminds me of a time I treasure. Why _wouldn't_ I wear it again?" 

The way Crowley bit his lip suggested he had a few choice comebacks to that, but he kept them to himself. Instead he turned away, though not quickly enough to hide the melting look on his face. 

"Right then. Hand me those bricks, and I'll start outlining our wall, yeah?"

At the mention of that time they were godfathers to the not-Antichrist, Aziraphale found himself recalling nights like this, after Warlock was asleep, when Crowley would sneak out and help Aziraphale repent for his sins against Mother Nature. They would work in hushed whispers and Aziraphale found himself uncommonly good at taking directions from Crowley.

Despite working so closely together as members of the Dowling’s staff, late evenings were the only chance they had to be together and fully out of character. The gardening allowed them to momentarily forget about the impending apocalypse and just be.

"Do you remember doing this at the Dowlings?" Crowley asked idly. Aziraphale glanced over at him, his eyes just sparkling as a smile of recognition spread across his lips. 

"I was actually just thinking about that. I never told you, but I think I deliberately forgot to water and prune, just as an excuse to get you out of the house and to spend time with you," Aziraphale said. Crowley shot him an indignant look and Aziraphale laughed.

"You really are a bastard, you know that, right?" Crowley said, not quite hiding his amusement. 

"My dear, you wouldn't have me any other way," Aziraphale said smugly and continued to watch as Crowley set the bricks into the ground, the outline of the wall beginning to take shape. 

"Well, you are! A right fucking bastard. . . . and yes, I wouldn't change it for anything," Crowley said fondly and Aziraphale couldn't help but preen. 

"You looked rather fetching, those nights, the moonlight always suited you," Aziraphale said, full of nostalgic affection. 

Ms Ashtoreth was prim and proper, tightly laced and no-nonsense, just what Americans expected of an English nanny. But when she would come outside, dressed in faded old jeans, her scarlet hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, the look softened her and Aziraphale had found her quite irresistible. Although at the time, it was his job to resist her charms, not to get too close, just admire from afar.

But those times were behind them, and at present, there was nothing stopping him from placing his hands on Crowley's shoulders, and bending down to press a soft kiss to the nape of his neck.

"Francis you old brute, will you let me get on with my work, please?" Crowley's voice was laced with affection and laughter, but held just a hint of that old familiar and directive tone. 

Steel wrapped in rich red velvet, and wielded by a woman who knew exactly what to do with this weapon. It raised the hair on the back of Aziraphale's neck, and he pulled back carefully, heart racing and mouth suddenly dry with desire. 

"My apologies, Ms Ashtoreth, how rude of me. Just tell me what you'd have me do, and I'll get out of your way." It was a teasing response, just light enough so Crowley could laugh it off if he wanted to, but Aziraphale knew that he wasn't fooling his husband. The tension and the excitement were clear in his voice, and he'd all but forgotten how to properly get into character. Crowley paused, and folded his hands in his lap, thinking. 

"I think, dear, I don't want you out of my way right now. And I think I already told you exactly what to do, didn't I? Now hand me that brick."

The firm tone, with just enough warmth, left no room for argument and sent a vibrant electric buzz through every one of Aziraphale's nerves. He was dizzy with it, the temptation to drag Crowley immediately inside or better yet, pin him right here in the dirt was unbearably strong. But then his instructions had been clear and he handed Crowley another brick with his head just lowered in deference. He didn't miss the sly smile just teasing at Crowley's lips. Aziraphale had just handed him the lead and provided Crowley kept talking like that, well, Brother Francis' only option was to obey.

"Quite right, ma'am, how terribly rude of me to make you tell me twice," Aziraphale demurred and continued to hand the bricks to Crowley, the wall beginning to build up around them.

"It was terribly rude, wasn't it? I'm glad you recognise that and I trust you'll not make the same mistake again. I’m certain errant gardeners can also benefit from a spot of discipline, when they step out of line. I'd be most disappointed if I needed to remind you of your manners again," Crowley said sternly and Aziraphale had a sudden desire to be as ill-mannered as possible to see exactly what Crowley had in mind.

"You'll find me as good as gold, Ms Ashtoreth. I am at your demand and disposal," Aziraphale responded, eyes fixed on Crowley, the stirring in his groin just hidden by the loose and oversized smock.

Aziraphale continued to pass over the bricks, moving his fingers just so to brush against Crowley's, his mind running through ideas to be just cheeky enough to earn another reprimand, to draw out another stern glance.

They worked in silence until the wall had grown to shoulder height, the air between them charged with an electric current that crackled on his skin every time they touched. Aziraphale suspected an infernal miracle or two were at work to make the structure grow so quickly. Even so, though, the sun was hanging low in the sky and they were both soaked in a significant amount of sweat by the time Crowley rocked back on his heels, and clapped his hands together. 

"That's enough for today, I think."

Aziraphale felt a faint twinge of regret, and exhaled quietly. Subtle as the game had been, he had enjoyed the gentle control Crowley had exerted over him, and he wasn't ready for it to end. Crowley, however, placed a finger on his lips, quieting him before he could protest. 

"Shush dear. I want you to go inside, and thoroughly wash your hands. After that, come join me in my room." 

_My room...?_ They owned the entire cottage together, the closest they got to a private space Aziraphale's study, though that was mostly a consequence of him having to store his many books. 

So where... 

_Oh._

"Certainly, Ms Ashtoreth, right away." 

He hurried into the kitchen, and all but scalded himself on the tap in his rush to get cleaned up as quickly as possible. He had to force himself to slow down, certainly, Ms Ashtoreth would not appreciate it if he followed her commands half-heartedly. Leaning against the sink for a moment Aziraphale drew a deep breath, and suddenly felt painfully aware of his erection pressing into the counter. 

_Fuck._

He rolled up his sleeves, and reached for the soap with trembling hands, working the lemon-scented bubbles between his fingers, and as far up his forearms as he could manage. It felt meditative and enticing all at once, the slide of slick skin against skin, the intricate ritual of cleaning himself exactly according to Ms Ashtoreth’s wishes. Some soil lingered under his fingernails, and as he ran them across his palm, he shivered at the sensation. So harmless and everyday, but with the same slight edge to it as the voice that had sent him off on this errand. His hand trembled a little as he reached for the little nail brush they kept next to the sink, a silly, comforting, human thing. He felt gripped with the need to be clean for her, for whatever she had in store for him, and scrubbed meticulously at his fingers until their tips were slightly pink, and completely freed from dirt. After a thorough rinse, he patted them dry with a fresh towel, and nervously made his way upstairs, to what had until now, been an empty room.

As Aziraphale drew a few deep breaths to compose himself, his hand absently slid to the front of his smock, his fingers itching to wrap firmly around his shaft to relieve the pressure there. The long tease out in the garden and then the promise of what was to come had produced a sharp sting at the base of his cock and he was antsy with the need for release. 

_Discipline, Brother Francis._ Nanny Ashtoreth's voice filled his mind while she wasn't even in the room.

It was strange how easily and willingly he wanted to submit and obey Nanny Ashtoreth, when he had put up significant resistance to the idea where Crowley was involved. But there was something in the gentleness of her voice with its unmistakably sharp edge that had Aziraphale feeling ravenous and yet eager to please.

He steeled himself, walking up the stairs and down the hallway, the coarse cotton of the smock brushing uncomfortably against the sensitive and leaking head of his cock, to the spare room, where the door was closed. Aziraphale rapped the door gently, waiting for permission to enter. 

"Come in," The voice was now unmistakably Ashtoreth’s and his cock twitched again as he turned the knob and stepped inside. 

It was the closest Aziraphale had ever felt to stepping into a time machine. The room had been transformed in exact detail to Ms Ashtoreth’s room at the Dowlings, the simple neat bed, small desk and a comfortable armchair, where Ms Ashtoreth herself sat primly. She was dressed in her slim cut burgundy blouse, perfectly pressed pencil skirt, and black leather high heels. And if his eyes weren't mistaking him, he could see the slightest tease of suspenders peeking from under her skirt, holding up her black stockings. Aziraphale swallowed hard and stepped across the threshold into the room.

"Good evening Brother Francis, very good of you to come visit me. I wanted to discuss a few things with yourself, if you'd be so kind as to have a seat," she directed him to the seat at the desk.

Francis moved slowly to the chair, his eyes lowered to the floor and sat, not quite raising his eyes to meet her's, not wishing to seem rude or to give the impression that he was staring at her untowardly.

He could feel the energy radiating off of the nanny, attentive and affectionate and just a hint amused. 

"I wanted to thank you," she declared finally, when Francis had found a comfortable seating position. His eyes snapped up in surprise, and landed on Ms Ashtoreth's face, her wine dark mouth curved in just the hint of a smile. "Well, you've been a marvellous help to me today, and it was very much appreciated. Without you, I couldn't have made as much progress as I did." Francis felt his shoulders relax, and his face melt into an easy smile. 

"Absolutely, my pleasure, Ms Astoreth. Always happy to be of help, just let me know if you need anything else." Ms Astoreth flashed him a brilliant smile, her teeth gleaming in a slightly inhumanly sharp way. 

"Oh, Francis - may I call you Francis? I was hoping you'd say that. We've been working together for so long, but hardly ever talked. It's time we got to know each other, don't you think?"

Francis swallowed hard at that. He admired Ms Ashtoreth from afar, those swift visits with Warlock a rare and treasured treat. The fact that she'd taken an interest in helping him maintain the grounds had been a gift he could hardly begin to articulate his gratitude for. She had a real way with the botanical arts. 

"Of course, you may call me Francis. What would you like to know? Not much worth noting," he said thickly, his hands wringing on his lap, an unexpected case of the nerves taking over under her intense eyes.

There was warmth and friendliness there, but a humble gardener like himself hardly knew how to talk to a woman like her. She was intensely beautiful and he couldn't possibly imagine what she saw in someone like him. She crossed her long legs, catching Francis' eye, though he quickly averted them, not wishing to be caught staring, despite the longing to do exactly that. Her legs seemed to stretch on for days and they stirred the most inappropriate thoughts in him. 

"Well, what do you enjoy doing for a start? Do you enjoy wine, let me get you a glass," she said cordially, standing to move to a small cupboard next to the desk, pulling out a dusty, expensive looking bottle of wine and two crystal glasses.

When she bent to retrieve both items, Francis' suspicions on suspenders were confirmed, the faintest strip of her creamy thighs just visible as her skirt pulled up tight around what was a very pert and firm bottom. Francis shifted in his seat, a persistent heat in his lap was making it exceedingly difficult to concentrate on responding. 

"Well, I . . . . um," he made a stuttering start, his hands wringing tighter in his lap, hoping he was disguising the very obvious sign of the arousal she was stirring inside him.

"Oh Francis, surely you must have interests, you can't possibly just garden and that's it?" Ms Ashtoeth's melodic voice sang sweetly in his ears.

"I enjoy reading, ma'am. Love a good book, me," he managed, accepting the glass of wine gratefully.

"A cultured man!" Ms Astoreth placed the open bottle of wine on her desk, and raised her own glass to silently toast Francis. "I had a feeling, of course. You're quite the philosopher, aren't you?" Francis had been expecting her to return to her seat, but to his surprise, she leaned against the desk, one shapely leg just brushing his knee. He curled his fingers, keeping himself from reaching out and caressing that tantalising hem and perhaps even push his fingertips under her skirt... 

"Oh, I don't know about that, Ma'am. It's really just a hobby. But I do enjoy it, and on a quiet summer day, it’s lovely to sit out in this lovely garden with a book." He took a deep sip from his wine, and let his gaze fall back into his lap. Better take care not to forget himself. 

"Hm, not very talkative, are you, dear? What about relatives, any family?" 

Francis felt taken aback, why would she possibly want to know about this? Did she expect him to make some reference to his origin, his celestial nature? Surely not, surely, this was just about their human personas, and the deep desire that would drive them together under any circumstances their souls found themselves in. He blinked, and pushed any consideration of their real lives to the back of his mind. 

"I, hm. No. No family except for one very dear, old friend." 

This seemed to catch her attention and Ms Ashtoreth leaned forward at the waist, her neckline of her blouse just revealing the slight curve of her breast and the glimmer of black lace caught his eyes. Thank God for loose clothing to disguise the powerful effect she was having on him.

_Foolish thoughts. A woman like that has no interest in you, she's being cordial, nothing more._

"A dear friend? I didn't expect that I must say, tell me about them," her rosy lips curved around her wine glass as she took a sip, her tongue just visible from behind the glass and Francis found the most indecent thoughts running through his head. 

"Yes ma'am. We've known each other a lifetime, they’re the very best friend I have," Francis' voice broke, his eyes darting up to her's, before he found her gaze too intense and he looked away again. 

"You're so shy, are you worried you'll say something that will upset me? How could you possibly upset me?” Ms. Ashtoreth said gently, leaning in closer to him again, the lacy edge of her bra now clearly visible and Francis' hands, twisted in his lap, pressed hard against his groin, his heart thumping in his chest, a heated flush across his cheeks. 

"No ma'am, not worried about that, ma'am. Just wouldn't want to seem rude or like a leering pervert," He breathed and a playful sparkle danced in her striking amber eyes. 

"A pervert, Francis? I would never think of you like that. And why would that worry you so?" Ms. Ashtoreth tilted her head in interest. The lines and curves of her body were igniting nerves that Francis had long assumed dead and dormant. He felt overwhelmed at being in her private quarters, surrounded by her very essence. He reminded himself again firmly that any interest she might have in him was strictly professional, this conversation nothing more than a courtesy. And yet, she seemed to be edging ever closer. 

"I've heard how the other staff talk to you," he blurted out, and immediately felt his face heat with a fiery flush of shame. "And how you put them in their place." 

In fact, one of the drivers had found himself suddenly out of a job when Harriet Dowling had heard he'd made crude sexual advances to the nanny, and Francis couldn't help but think it had been deserved. Ms Ashtoreth, however, seemed entirely unperturbed at the mention of the affair. 

"Why, Francis, that was an entirely different situation. That man was quite horrible to me, and on multiple occasions. You've never treated me with anything but respect. I wouldn't dream of comparing you to that brute." 

Against his better judgement, Francis' lips twitched in a reassured smile. He looked up briefly, taking in the artful stretch of Ms Ashtoreth's body. With one deep inhale, he decided to be brave. "I would never want to treat you with disrespect, ma'am. But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't noticed your body in that way."

A knowing and understanding smile spread across Ms Ashtoreth's face. It was plainly obvious that she knew the effect she had on men (and surely some women as well) and while she wouldn't tolerate the animalistic behaviour of the driver, she seemed to recognise that she was as a desirable creature who could set the passions of men alight with a casual glance, an absent-minded gesture. She pushed herself off the desk, moving towards Francis with a determined air, the slim cut of her skirt only highlighting the sweet sway of her hips as she approached him. 

"I know you have, Francis. I can see it in you every time you hear the wheels of the pram approaching. Your body stiffens and then in an instant, seems to lighten. This is why I wanted you here tonight, because I thought it incredibly unfair that your desire for me was so plainly obvious, but I've not repaid the kindness," Ms. Ashtoreth said, a thick honey in her voice that went straight to the core of Francis.

His eyes widened as she approached him and then placed her hands on the arms of his chair, closing the distance between them. He still couldn't believe it, women like Ms Ashtoreth, nay, women full stop, did not look at him with heat in their eyes. 

And yet here she was, now so close that her perfume filled his nose and ignited his senses. He wanted to pull her into his lap and show her that behind this humble gardener facade was a man with a fire and desire that burned solely for her. 

"I would never want to give the wrong impression, Ms Ashtoreth," he breathed, the distance between them now agonisingly short. This was too good to be true, he was surely in the middle of one of those dreams that meant he couldn't look at her properly for a full week in fear that she'd see the images that he'd painted in his mind.

"You're here, because I asked you to be here. I'm not sure how to make it any more clear," Ms. Ashtoreth's voice was a rich purr and any doubt was erased as her long, perfect thighs straddled his lap. "Is this clear enough, Francis?"

He looked up helplessly, and only managed to nod, a silent confirmation of what his voice would not and could not confirm. Ms Ashtoreth seemed content and slid closer to him, hips slowly but insistently grinding against the bulge under Francis's smock. 

"Oh, look at you, dear, so shy and so eager, all at once. I'm sorry if I've startled you. You're usually so talkative, I hope I haven't crossed a line?" 

Francis's thoughts sparked and sputtered like a faulty candle, stumbling over the possibilities of what he could say, other than: "No, no, Ms Ashtoreth, certainly not!" 

Her smile took on a hungry, wolfish gleam, and Francis's cock actually _jumped_. He bit off a whimper, and laid two slow, trembling hands onto her hips. 

"There you go, now you're warming up to me, aren't you, dear. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you. I've always suspected under that quaint little getup of yours is a handsome man. With a lovely, eager cock, by the looks of it." 

Francis panted at Ms Ashtoreth's words. He was surely caught in some fantasy, because this was so far removed from his reality that he could barely focus. This happened in films and radio dramas, it did not happen to homely, simple country folk like himself and he was most assuredly in some sort of wet dream, which he prayed desperately he wouldn't wake up.

Ms. Ashtoreth gripped her thighs around his hips, sliding onto his lap like it had been created just for that purpose and a quiet, shy gasp escaped Francis' lips and he couldn't repress a grind of his hips upwards as the warmth of her settled across him. 

"I couldn't possibly comment," he gasped at the mention of his cock, so unaccustomed to this attention. "I must be honest with you ma'am, I've never enjoyed such attention and must be honest about my utter inexperience here," Francis nodded, the ache in his cock so sweet, but so unfamiliar that it startled him.

A soft and endearing look spread across Ms. Ashtoreth's face, her hand reaching up to stroke down his cheek and her thumb coming to rest at the thick protrusion of his lower lip. He had half a mind to pull the digit into his mouth and suck at it, but his bashfulness held him back.

"Oh Francis, you surely can't mean that? A man such as yourself, rugged and kind, you must surely have raised some eyebrows in your lifetime," Ms. Ashtoreth cooed at him, the silky pad of her thumb still tracing across his lip, the exquisite weight of her on his lap, just avoiding the stiffness of his cock driving him mad.

"No ma'am, I've never lain with a woman . . . . or a man for that matter," Francis confessed as a deep crimson rose through his neck and across his cheeks. Intimacy like this had always been a craving, though an unfulfilled one. Francis had noticed the wiles of women and men but had never found his place within them. Simple, plain and painfully shy, he had raised no eyebrows and set no hearts aflame. 

"Well, we shall have to remedy that, shant we, dear." Ms Ashtoreth leaned in slowly, until her warm breath skated just teasingly over Francis' lips. "Not even a kiss?" 

He shook his head decisively, tears beginning to spring up in his eyes. She was so sweet and kind, and yet this was beginning to feel somewhat like a test. 

"Oh dear. Don't cry, I'm not judging you. I just want to make sure that I take my time with everything that's new to you. And I can't believe nobody's ever beat me to it. Such a sweet, kissable face you have, like the loveliest garden apple." 

Before Francis could think of anything to respond, she closed the gap between them, and pressed gently against his mouth. Her mouth was soft and yielding, so different from the sharp angles of her body, and just slightly tacky with the dark, exotic lipstick she wore. Francis made a surprised little noise, and without a conscious decision, pressed in closer, only to find himself pushed back into the chair by a firm hand on his chest. 

"Ah ah ah. Let me take my time. Let me make it good for you." 

Every fiber of him screamed _it's good, it's so good, this is already better than my wildest dreams,_ but he knew better than to protest. 

"Yes Nanny," he whispered instead, gaze sliding away in deference. 

As soon as the name had slipped out, he felt a pink blush rising in his cheeks. He’d certainly addressed her by her job title before, it was only fitting when speaking to her in the presence of her charge, but in this context, it took on an entirely different meaning. This was no longer about her professional responsibilities, but it was every bit about the firm and caring nature that made her so good at what she did. 

Ms Ashtoreth leaned back with a thoughtful look on her face, but kept her hand pressed against Francis' chest. His eyes were wide with interest, the taste of her still tingling on his lips, his first kiss. His fingers itched to pull her back for a second kiss.

"I must say you've surprised me Francis, I hadn't realised that I would be your first and well, that changes things, just a little," Ms Ashtoreth said, tapping her chin with her free hand, appearing to come to some sort of decision.

Francis thought his heart may explode, flashes of teasing taunts and dares to kiss him as a test of their ability to withstand the horror. His fists balled up and the tears fell fat and hot down his cheeks. He'd withstood it so long, he couldn't bear Nanny teasing him as well.

"No! It shouldn't change anything! Why must I always be treated differently? If you mean your words ma'am, that you want me and you find me desirable, well, then you should just get on with it. But please, don't make fun, I couldn't stand it," Francis' voice cracked at the last. 

Where Ms Ashorteth had been thoughtful a moment ago, she melted into a protective and caring thing, her hand cupping his face gently, swiping away the tears with the pad of her thumb. 

"Oh, my dear Francis, I'm not teasing you and I am so sorry others have been cruel to you. It's only, I want to make this perfect for you and I needed a moment. It otherwise changes nothing, I want you Francis," Nanny soothed and moved in close, her skirt hitching up high on her thighs and pulled Francis into a deep and exploratory kiss. 

In spite of his reservations, the sheer wet heat of it drew a moan from Francis. He felt a wet patch bloom where his cock was pressed against the rough fabric of his clothes, and suddenly remembered that he hadn't showered since they'd parted in the garden, when Ms Ashtoreth had sent him to wash his hands. He was otherwise completely unchanged, clearly not knowing where she wanted to go with this. It made him feel daring and dirty in an appealing way, like the simple, earthy thing she'd craved as an antidote to her pressed and starched professionalism. 

Emboldened by the thought, Francis slowly drew his hands downward, tracing along thick wool and toned thighs, until he reached the hem of her skirt. Ms Ashtoreth hummed encouragingly into the kiss, and grasped his hand in hers when she noticed his hesitation. Guided by her, his fingers slipped under the tight fabric of her skirt, and found the very top of her silky stockings, where smooth, warm fabric met even more supple skin. 

"Go on. Touch whatever you like, dear, I have so many things to introduce you to."

There was a tremor in Francis' hand as his fingertips explored the skin of Ms. Ashtoreth's inner thigh, his eyes darting between the movement of his hand under her skirt and her eyes, warm and encouraging. Her thighs spread a bit wider for him, her hips tipping forward. 

"You're beautiful, Ms. Ashtoreth," he breathed and feeling emboldened by her body responding under his touch, traced the outline of her panties, silky and damp with arousal. Ms Ashtoreth let out a heated moan that went straight to the core of Francis. 

"Are you quite certain you've never done this before Francis? Your fingers are very clever," Ms. Ashtoreth purred in his ear, her breath hot and moist against his skin. A blush spread across Francis' cheeks, equally pleased and slightly embarrassed.

"I assure you ma'am, this is a first. I thank you though, for the vote of confidence," Francis said, a chuckle in his voice that brought a bright smile to the nanny's face.

His fingers continued to explore the outline of her vulva, still bound by its satin prison. He traced up the centre, moist and hot, and Ms. Ashtoreth groaned again, sending a vibrant jolt through Francis' body. He reached around to place his other hand on the small of her back, pulling her in closer and supporting her as she just leaned back to grant him further access to her. His cock was pressing hard against her thigh and the movement caused the fabric of his clothes to drag across it deliciously.

He couldn't resist any longer and slid his finger into her panties, meeting the hot swollen flesh there. He marvelled at how soft and slick she was, neatly trimmed amber curls at the top of her exquisite peach. Francis drew a slow, deep breath, his eyes flickering up to Ms. Ashtoreth's. She nodded at him and just bit her bottom lips as he pressed a thick finger into her labia, gasping as his touch met the sweet fruit buried within.

For a moment, every erotic scene he had ever read, every lurid fantasy, flashed before Francis' eyes. He wanted to prove himself the dashing knight in shining armor, or at least the handsome cavalier that Ms Ashtoreth clearly deserved. Wanted to carry her over to the bed and worship at her sweet and fragrant altar until she was overflowing and radiant with pleasure. Then, the moment passed, and he came back to the reality of it all, his cluelessness in these things and her clear pleasure in taking the lead. 

"Will you give me directions on what to do, Ms Ashtoreth?" he asked demurely, broad thumb slowly circling her clit. "I want to make sure I treat you right, give you everything a lady deserves." Her eyes had drifted almost completely shut and she watched him now from underneath lowered lids, just a thin sliver of gold trained on his face. 

"You sweet thing, you're doing marvelously. But I think you enjoy taking my directions, don't you?" Francis' cheeks burned, but he nodded. "Very well then. Let go of me just a moment, yes?" The disappointment must have shown on his face, because Ms Ashtoreth tutted, and pressed another quick kiss to his lips. "Just for a moment, I promise. There's a love." She rose from his lap, and calmly pushed up his smock until she could reach for the belt on his simple working trousers. "These just won't do, won't you let me see what you're hiding in there?"

Francis' heart sped up as Ms. Asthoreth's fingers toyed with his belt, heat rising from his toes to the top of his head. This wasn't happening, this couldn't possibly be real, surely it was just a fevered dream from spending so much time with her in the garden this afternoon. It certainly wouldn't have been the first time his imagination had led him here.

He held his breath as the buckle was undone and she was sliding the leather through the loops on his trousers, her eyes fixed on his groin, the warmth of her breath could be felt through the thick fabric. As she pushed her thumbs into the waist of his trousers, having made swift work of the button and zip, he felt a rush of embarrassment run through him. 

"I'm afraid I've not washed, ma'am. I, um, I can take a quick shower, if you'd like," he stammered, suddenly afraid he was going to frighten her off with the scent of sweat and earth clinging to his skin.

A feral smile, almost predatory, spread across her dark lips. She tugged decisively on his trousers, pulling them to his thighs. 

"My dearest Francis, you've nothing to worry about. I like the smell of you, rich and intense, don't you dare do such a foolish thing as washing it off, masking it with sickly soap," she said and dropped to her knees in front of him and ran a trim, painted nail up the cloth-covered length of him. Francis' head dropped back, his eyes squeezing tightly closed for a moment, before prying them back open, not wanting to miss a single moment of the sight in front of him. Ms. Ashtoreth continued to tease and toy with his cock, still restrained by his cotton underpants, an unmissable wet patch stained at the front. He squirmed under her touch, he felt half mad with it, the not quite enough friction and the quiet fascination she had in him. 

"Lift your hips please Francis, I want a proper look," She said softly, her fingers slipping into the waistband and finally freeing his swollen, dripping cock. 

"There we are, oh, just look at you. Thick and glorious, you'll feel so good inside me." 

Another pulse of precome shot from his prick and landed on Francis' newly exposed thigh. Again, he felt the urge to apologise, but Ms Ashtoreth seemed utterly transfixed, and not deterred in the slightest. Her tongue darted out for just the briefest moment, and for a split second, Francis thought he could make out a forked tip, and a flutter like one would see on a reptile, tasting the air. Maybe he _was_ dreaming, after all. He wasn't going to let this stop him, however. Not when Ms Ashtoreth had just unbuttoned her own skirt, and stepped out of it in a fluid motion, revealing the tantalising tops of her stockings and a pair of satin knickers entirely too scandalous to be fitting for a straight-laced nanny like herself. She seemed to be able to read his thoughts, and threw him a wink. 

"Let's keep that our little secret, shall we?" With a mischievous grin, she settled back into his lap, taking hold of his cock and positioning it so she could press up flush against it, soaked satin sliding easily against the shaft of him. "Hmm, Francis, should I let you in on another naughty little secret?" 

Who in their right mind would say no to that? Francis nodded, dumbfounded by the sheer immensity of what he was feeling, and Ms Ashtoreth leaned in. 

"I've wanted you for the longest time," she whispered. "Every time I saw you roll up your sleeves while working the garden, I've wanted to grip hold of those strong forearms of yours while I ride you. I've wanted those hands of yours on me, and in me, every way I could get them."

That was it, this was a dream. Certainly more vivid and palpable than his usual daydreams, but women like Ms. Ashtoreth did not look longingly after men like Francis. His eyes searched her's, looking for the punchline, the big reveal, but as the head of his cock stroked against the warm, satin-clad crease of her, he couldn't find it in him to continue to care if it was real or not. 

Francis' hands slid down her arms and then waist, coming to grip on to her hips and pressed up against her, gasping as every nerve in his body lit up as she ground harder against him. 

"Ahh, you do me a great kindness, Ms. Ashtoreth. You've quite driven me to distraction from the moment I met you and I wish I understood what you see in humble old me, but I'm grateful for it," he breathed and groaned as her hands came to wrap around his forearms and leant in for another deep, searching kiss. 

Ms. Ashtoreth's tongue slid deliciously across his, her hands drifting up his arms to tangle in his hair, leading and directing the kiss, while her hips rocked across his. His cock ached as her panties slid across him and he was beginning to see stars dancing in his vision. Ms. Ashtoreth pulled back and licked her lips, capturing the last of his taste with her tongue and there was no menace or cruelty in her striking amber eyes.

"I want you to touch me Francis, please?" She asked, pleading and needy and Francis' head spun that this warm honeyed tone was just for him.

He nodded and with a shaking hand, pulled aside her panties, revealing her and spreading her open. Ms. Ashtoreth's lips parted in a silent _oh_ as he teased the delicate inner labia, before gathering a measure of moisture from her weeping entrance and smeared it across the swollen nub of her clit. Francis watched in wonder as Ms Ashtoreth's head tipped back, revealing the long line of her throat as he pressed against the base of her clit.

"Yesssssss, just like that, please keep doing that," she hissed and leant forward, kissing him deeply again, rutting against his fingers. "Oh... oh, fuck." 

Francis had tentatively added a second finger, rolling her clit between the broad pad of his thumb and his index finger. If it hadn't been for the obvious enthusiasm in her voice, he might have begun to worry that the coarse, callused skin of his hands wasn't fit to touch a lady in this way. But Ms Ashtoreth certainly left nothing to the imagination where her agreement was concerned. Her nails were digging into Francis' skin now. He might have protested, if she hadn't just painted such an enticing picture of fantasizing about his arms, and instantly made the touch one of the most erotic things he could have imagined. Speaking of things she'd said... Francis slid his index finger down, sliding along the slick, silky split of her. It dipped easily inside, and Francis had to force himself to stop, and glance up at her, a silent question in his eyes. 

"Yes," Ms Ashtoreth gasped. "Yes, you silly, glorious man, just." She bit her lip and seemed to stifle a moan. "Just give them to me, I want your wonderful hands on me." 

So encouraged, he pressed in deeper, sliding almost effortlessly into the depths of her. Francis' heart was hammering now, and he moved almost shyly, marvelling at the small noises every little movement drew from the gorgeous woman in his lap. 

"You're so beautiful... I'd hardly know how to describe it, if somebody asked me."

A faint pink rose to Ms Ashtoreth's cheeks at the compliment and she lowered her chin, just a bit bashful. Francis marvelled at how this softened her, somehow adding even more to her radiant beauty. Francis thought his heart would explode.

Her walls fluttered against his finger, tightening and releasing as they moved inside her, his thumb still rubbing tiny circles against her clit. Ms. Ashtoreth was warm velvet against his fingers, a goddess on his lap, needing him, wanting him, being pleasured by him. She worried her lower lip with her teeth as he turned his palm upwards, pressing a third finger inside the tight heat of her, curling his fingers against the walnut spot inside her.

"Ah! Oh, Francis, yes! Please don't stop" Ms. Ashtoreth gasped and bucked against his hand.

Francis responded with a bright smile, consumed with drawing more of those sweet keens from her. 

She glimmered with a faint sheen of sweat across her brow, her neatly coiffed hair beginning to unravel from it's updo, falling in tendrils around her face. Francis had imagined a thousand times what she might look like in the throes of passion, but nothing he could dream up compared to the real thing. The smell of her sex filled the air with a rich, slightly smoky scent. Francis was sure he could taste it tingling on his tongue and a thought occurred to him. He wanted more of this, wanted to be consumed by her. He carefully withdrew his fingers, eliciting a gasp of protest as Ms. Ashtoreth was suddenly left empty. He gripped his hands around her narrow hips and lifted her easily, her long legs winding around his waist and he carried her to her bed, laying her back against the pillows, kicking his trousers aside.

Ms. Ashtoreth's golden eyes went wide, this sudden boldness from Francis had clearly taken her by surprise. He gently coaxed her thighs open and settled between them. His thumbs hooked into her panties, he slid them slowly down her legs and drew a deep breath as her sweet flower blossomed before him, her labia just parting and he licked his lips in anticipation. 

"I hope you don't mind, ma'am, can I taste you?" He asked hesitantly, his eyes meeting her's.

She hesitated only for a moment, and then nodded. Clearly, this hadn't been what Ms Ashtoreth had planned for, but his attention had left her hungry for more. The thought was startling and arousing, and Francis groaned as he bent down to sample her. It was a slow, exploratory thing at first, his tongue pointed and searching against the expanse of her soft, glistening folds. In spite of her strong, smoky aroma, she tasted sweet, almost syrupy. Francis marvelled at the yielding softness of her, and the low grunts his attentions had been drawing from his prim and proper colleague, rapidly unravelling in his hands. 

"Hm, right there, get in there, you beautiful beast," Ms Ashtoreth gasped, and for a moment Francis froze. 

_Beast._

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd been called that, but it had never been meant as a compliment. His pause drew a whine from the nanny, and had her bucking against his face in protest. 

"Az- _Francis, please!_ "

A flicker of recognition flashed across Francis' face, a small bastardly smile tugging his lips for a moment before fading as quickly as it had arrived. He smoothed his hands across the creamy skin of Ms. Ashtoreth's inner thighs, pausing a moment to nibble there.

"Sorry Nanny, I quite lost myself for a moment," he said before pressing his face against her, taking a deep breath of the musky ozone scent of her arousal and ran his tongue along her, soft and fat.

Ms. Ashtoreth rolled her hips against him. He needed more of her essence coating his tongue, tingling and sharp. Francis curled his lips around her clit, sucking gently, almost hesitantly as he pressed two fingers inside her again. Ms Ashtoreth's hands gripped into his head, using her hips to drive him exactly where she needed him to be. He felt his lungs stinging as her thighs tightened around him, spots dancing behind his eyes, but he kept lavishing his tongue against her.

Francis relished the way her body moved and jerked against him, her thighs quivering against his face as she fell apart beneath him. He'd read about this in plenty of books, always struck by the delicate intimacy of worshipping at this altar. He ground his own pelvis into the bed, the mattress providing not quite enough relief, but kept his hands away from his cock, focussed entirely on Ms. Ashtoreth. Oh, how he wanted to see her come.

Her hips grew more frenetic, driving harder against his mouth, alternating laps and sucks against her clit, his fingers, three now, stretching and filling her. And when he curled against the spot inside her again, she seemed to explode under his touch, a gush of honeyed nectar dripped down his fingers and wrist.

"Fuck!! Francis, blessed Hell, yes!" She cried out, her voice cracking. Ms Ashtoreth continued to rut against his fingers as he lapped up the liquid arousal before he carefully pulled back, his cheeks shimmering with her.

She was radiant in the glow of her orgasm, her skin glistening with sweat, a ruddy pink painted across her cheeks, her breasts rapidly rising and falling under the weight of her laboured breaths. Ms Ashtoreth pawed weakly at him, urging him up the planes of her body to rest against her before she melted against the pillows behind her, her eyes half closing as her fingers wound into Francis’ hair. Francis was captivated by the rapid thump of her heart under his ear and breathed deeply the earthy floral perfume of her before the memory of how she got there and how he’d quite brutishly lifted her into the bed crossed his mind and his gut twisted with it. 

"I'm sorry ma'am, you seemed to have something in mind, before I em, took us in this direction," he said softly, recalling the hesitant look she had cast at him at the start.

Ms Ashtoreth stared at him breathlessly, and after a moment of silence, broke into laughter. Something inside Francis clenched, but there was no malice in her laugh, and once she noticed his expression, she drew herself up quickly, taking his sticky face in both hands. 

"You silly man, you really can't mean that. Apologising to me after you made me come like this." And Ashtoreth drew him in, hungry and demanding, and before Francis had the chance to worry about her fluids on his face, pressed a crushing kiss to his lips. 

"I did have a plan," she purred when she finally pulled back. "Come on, dear, up you get." He stared at her in fascination, but finally drew himself up to a kneeling position, and moved to crawl off the bed. "That's enough, stay." Ashtoreth's voice did not leave any room for protest or negotiation, not that Francis would have wanted to. He did, however, need clearer instructions. 

"Just like this. Just let me see that beautiful cock of yours, such a shame you haven't used it much yet. We'll have to make up for that, don't you agree? So I’m going to ride you, love, come here."

A mixture of niggling awkward embarrassment and pleased delight coursed through Francis. It was a heady feeling, his stomach tied up in knots which only seemed to heighten the throbbing pulse in his cock. Ms Ashtoreth looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from her orgasm, what remained of her clothes somehow more revealing than if she'd been fully naked.

Francis' jaw went slack at the promise and he tugged up the hem of his smock, revealing the red swollen cock underneath and began to crawl towards her, her hands covering his and lifting the smock up and over his head. He lowered his eyes as his body was revealed, long past its youthful prime and the intensity of Ashtoreth's eyes on him turned his own cheeks a bright pink. She reached over and cupped his chin, raising his eyes to her.

"No more of that, you look perfect," she soothed and kissed him before directing him to set with his back against the headboard and swung a long leg, still clad in her black silk stockings, over his hips, straddling him.

Francis' breath caught in his throat, his blood rushing past his ears, his face felt hot as she reached behind herself, unclasping her bra sliding it down her shoulders, revealing her small, pert breasts. She reached for his hands again, placing them on her hips.

"Like this," she said gently and then gripped the base of his cock, sliding the head of it across herself, jumping as it brushed past her still sensitive clit. "Ready?" 

Francis nodded and swallowed hard, his fingers tightening in the flesh of her hips and she sank slowly down the length of him and Francis bit hard on his lip as she enveloped him. He gave a jerky, involuntary thrust into her. He was quite certain he could come just from that one movement and Ms. Ashorteth cupped his face, holding his gaze.

"You feel amazing," he whimpered, panting for air. She smiled sweetly, running the pads of her thumbs across his cheeks. 

"So do you. All I've ever wanted," she said and kissed him deeply before beginning to slowly circle her hips, grinding deeply on him.

Francis was soaring. His disbelief that something like this could happen to him had circled back around, and ended on quiet acceptance. Whatever had led to this, his imagination could never have filled the gaps in his experience so perfectly, made this feel so wonderful. While she was slowly rocking in his lap, Ms Ashtoreth's hands roamed his body, long, elegant fingers seemingly hungry to touch every curve and dip, every bit he might have been self conscious about, but couldn't possibly make himself now. Not when she looked at him like this, with such hunger in her eyes. 

"Just like I imagined. You're like that garden of yours, Francis." She snapped her hips more quickly, once, twice, and seemed to overwhelm herself with the intensity of it. Her head tipped back, throat working and mouth opened in a gasp, and once again, her fingers dug into his skin, just where they'd been resting on the swell of his chest. "Huge and fragrant and - ha! Haaahh." She broke off, and slumped forward the tiniest bit, curling in around the pleasure she'd found in the particular angle. 

Francis stared at her in marvel and disbelief. He felt like a transcendental glow had taken hold of him, a primal pull he'd believed to be the stuff of novels. 

"Please, Ms Ashtoreth, I want -" he didn't know what he wanted, except for one thing, and he almost didn't dare ask for it. But she turned her gaze on him, gentle and sure even with her eyes glazed with pleasure, and a dam broke in him. "I want to come inside you, please."

Ms. Ashtoreth seemed to melt in his arms at the request and she pushed the damp hair off his forehead, studying his face before finding something there that must have pleased her immensely and kissed him. 

"Yes, please Francis, come inside me, I want to feel you," she gasped and gave another maddeningly slow circle of his hips, clenching her walls tightly around him, coaxing him deeper. 

Her words were more than Francis could bear, one hand gripped eagerly around her hips, the other moving to press a broad thumb against her clit, moving it in rhythm of his thrusts and to his amazement, she met his thrusts.

Francis had made himself come plenty of times before, but nothing compared to her velvet heat stroking across his length, the solid, but light weight of her hips pressed against his, the steady bounce of her breasts as she slid along him. The wave building behind his groin was growing in intensity and with a deep and guttural shout he was falling, his hips jerking into Ms. Ashtoreth erratically, stream after hot stream of come spilling inside him. 

"Ahhhhh, hnnnk, Ms Ashtoreth," he gasped and the world went fuzzy around him as he filled her with his arousal, his thrusts now making a sweet squelching noise, his thumb still working across her clit.

As though determined to draw every bit of pleasure out of this that she could, she kept fucking herself on his softening cock, miraculously contracting and fluttering around him just as he was deflating completely. Content and spent, she collapsed against Francis' chest, playing with the coarse hair there. He looked down at her in amazement, the dishevelled hair, the smudged lipstick, this beautiful, put together woman that had come apart so easily in his arms. With a mixture of awe and affection, Francis closed his arms around her narrow waist, and sighed contentedly as she nudged closer, both of them still joined though the heat of their coupling had subsided. 

"Oh, Ms Ashtoreth that was - I'm not sure I have the words for this experience. You've been ever so kind." To his surprise, she chuckled against his chest. 

"Yes, very selfless of me, enduring two orgasms in a row. Allowing myself to be fucked by a gorgeous and kind man who only wants to see me happy." Without opening her eyes, she turned her head slightly, and pressed a kiss to one still-sensitive nipple, which caused Francis to gasp again. "I told you, you old silly, I've wanted this for a long, long time. And given everything we've just done, you should probably call me Clara, don't you think?"

Francis watched in quiet fascination as she played idly with his chest, her red lips just teasing his nipple, drawing forth a gasp. He reached his own hand up carefully, tangling in her hair, a soft and amazed smile on his lips. 

"Clara, a name as beautiful as you, ma'am," He said and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I can hardly believe that you've wanted this from me for so long. I've never turned a head, you see . . . and repulsed plenty. Though it was worth every no, for your enthusiastic yes." 

He shifted them carefully, laying back and pulling her closer still. The books and stories he read spoke of an afterglow, that sweet and tender moment when bodies were spent, air cooling the sweat that had gathered on skin and feelings of warmth and affection flooded in where heat and need had been only a moment before. Francis would admit that it was that part of the story he always enjoyed most, it went beyond physical gratification and spoke to a deeper need of love and care, intimacy beyond the physical form. 

With Carla nestled in his arms, her fingers drawing nonsense shapes against his chest, he thought his heart might explode from it. Her skin was warm and soft against his, a perfect contrast to his sun-battered and calloused form. He pulled her up and kissed her long and slow, no urgency in it, just needing that confirmation that she was here and this was real. 

"You were everything I hoped for, Ms Clara. An enchanting creature like you is a dream to me, thank you," he said as his voice cracked under the torrent of emotions that ran through him. 

Francis felt incredibly lucky, like a winning lottery ticket had been placed in his palm, but also, strangely desired and wanted, which was so unfamiliar and overpowering, he thought he could cry, though didn't wish to shatter the image Carla had of him as a strong and rugged gardener.

"Angel. Hey, hey, Angel, talk to me, what's wrong?" 

Aziraphale's eyes flew open, and only now, with Crowley's voice soft in his ear and the realisation settling in that his husband had gently shifted back into himself, he realised that his cheeks were, in spite of his best efforts, covered in tears. Crowley's arms and legs were wound tight around him, his chest pressed softly into Aziraphale. Every part of them that could touch was touching in sweet and self-assured intimacy, all passionate heat gone and replaced by the bigger, constant glow of their love. 

"Nothing... nothing's wrong! I'm fine, that was - really, it was wonderful." Aziraphale felt silly. This lonely and oft-rejected gardener figure wasn't him, it hadn't even been him back when it had been his regular disguise, and erotic as their game had been, he'd known all along that Crowley wanted him. So why, on earth, had this affected him so much? 

Crowley placed a finger under his chin and raised his face carefully, mustering it with quiet intensity. 

"Yeah, it was. But you're not fine, you're crying, Angel. What happened, did we do something that hurt you? We should talk about that, you know." 

Aziraphale wanted to protest, wanted to deny that anything was the matter, wanted... But all of his resolve cracked under the sure and steady gaze of Crowley, and his quiet concern. 

"It's not me, alright? It's you! I'm - it's so silly, I couldn't possibly know what you've gone through, with the Fall, and all the times I've told you to go, told you that we're not even friends, all the rejections you've had to endure... and here I am, crying because I made up a sad backstory for a character in a role play."

Crowley's face when incredibly soft and fond, wiping away the tears still streaming down Aziraphale's face, placing soft kisses there as well. Crowley seemed to be mulling his words over carefully and was quiet for a long moment before he spoke. 

"It's okay to feel things and to cry and if it's because you feel empathy for me, well that's only a good thing surely. This is where the role play helps, I think, to put ourselves in situations that aren't us and aren't real and it gives us an opportunity to try and learn a little bit more," Crowley soothed and ran a gentle hand down Aziraphale's back. 

"How on Earth did you bear it? I spent most of our existence pushing you away, outright reminding you that you weren't good enough for me. I told myself it was to protect myself and you, but there was also this insidious part of me that enjoyed lording it over you, reminding you of your place to elevate my own goodness," Aziraphale croaked, the full weight of every cruel thing he ever said to Crowley slamming over him.

"Angel, you forget, I know what heaven is like, they were constantly reminding you how silly you were, how frivolous and expendable you were. I'm sure you were terrified. I never for a moment believed that you meant those things, really meant them I mean, but you were just responding to your own difficult situation." 

This only served to break Aziraphale's heart further. How could Crowley hold him, comfort him like this and be so fucking understanding? He knew it still affected Crowley. He could see it in his eyes whenever Crowley was submissive to him and lit up in delight at pleasing and serving him. Crowley still harboured that idea that he was gifted with Aziraphale’s presence and feasted on the tiny crumbs he threw at him.

"How can you say that Crowley? How can you continue to be so kind and generous with me after everything I put you through. It's a strange feeling, to be the one who is always worrying in the back of their mind that this is somehow a joke, that the rug could be pulled out from under your feet once clearer heads set in. I can hardly stand it," Aziraphale floundered and his skin suddenly felt itchy and uncomfortable all over.

Crowley went silent at this, and Aziraphale's heart clenched. He could barely hold himself back from crying out when Crowley drew back, and slowly slid off his lap. Instead of leaving, though, or facing him again with that fury in his eyes that he'd had all those weeks ago, he only nodded, and pulled back his hair to re-secure it into a ponytail. Crowley clicked his fingers, and they were both in their own bed, clean and wrapped in their comfortable robes, with Crowley's arms around Aziraphale. 

"You're right, that's... it's a horrible feeling." 

There was a darkness in his voice Aziraphale hadn't heard in a long time, a faint echo of that last, terrible day on which he'd suggested they run away together. 

"But Angel, I don't feel like that now. I haven't felt like that since..." He sighed and buried his face in Aziraphale's hair, kissing his temple. "Since the airfield." He opened his mouth to protest, but Crowley shushed him. "No, I'm not saying it never comes back. It's clearly still there somewhere, and maybe it'll always come up occasionally, but I'm learning to deal with it. I just need you to understand that I don't feel like that in our everyday life. I look at you, and I hold you, and I kiss you, and I feel so fucking lucky, I can't believe that we're here, but it's not... I don't doubt that you want to be here too."

Despite being bundled comfortably in his bed with Crowley holding him, Aziraphale still wished for the Earth to open and swallow him whole. It had been eye opening, to say the least, to feel for a brief moment what Crowley had endured for centuries . . . millennia, even. He swallowed hard and tried to ease into Crowley's arms, a desperate need in him to continue to fight what he felt boiling under the surface. 

"I'm sorry. . . . I am so so sorry. It's not enough, not even close to enough, but I love you, I've always loved you. Even when I've been less than kind in my way of showing it," Aziraphale whispered and stared at his hands, clenching and unclenching in the duvet.

He wished there was a way to make it right, to rewind and undo the damage he'd caused. His own foolish pride and overinflated sense of self steamrolled over Crowley for so long. He turned to fully face Crowley and framed his face in his hands, pressing sweet, soft kisses on his lips. 

"You're perfect and wonderful and perhaps I pushed you away because I didn't think I was worthy of you either. You've always left me tied up in knots and I didn't know how to process that or how to deal with it and I responded in the worst possible way. You've always been everything to me, my shining star," Aziraphale said softly, the unease in his gut beginning to unwind as Crowley beamed brightly at the words. 

"Stop, you'll discorporate me, carrying on like that," Crowley said, though there was no bite or edge to the words.

Aziraphale, spurred on by the faint blush on Crowley's cheeks, climbed into his lap and pushed his fingers through his tangled amber locks. 

"You're everything I've ever wanted and it scared me. But it doesn't scare me now, I am the lucky one, I am so bloody blessed that you chose me, that you continue to choose me, flaws and all and you are truly the most remarkable thing She has ever made."

"Angel..." 

"No, listen to me. You knew, long before I even had an inkling, that Heaven could be cruel and unjust, and you fell for questioning that. You were constantly praised and courted in Hell but instead of rising through the ranks there, you decided to go your own way, and make your home among humans. And in spite of everything keeping us apart, in spite of everything I did to you, you kept choosing me, you kept choosing the life you knew we could have, for centuries. You were my home, long before I admitted to myself that I might have one, and you never held it against me that I couldn't offer you the same. I'm so, so sorry for how long it took me, and so grateful that you waited." 

**Author's Note:**

> Want to comment, but not sure what to say?
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